Choices
by Aromene
Summary: The Peredhil remark on their choices in life, and some things they had no choice in.
1. Elrond

**Disclaimer: So Not Mine. I do this only for enjoyment, not for money, which will tell you something, because I have none.**

**Author's Note: So the HP characters had their say, now the LOTR ones wanted a go to. Or at least the Peredhil did. Wait, do I ever write anything else?

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There were inherent problems with bearing a Ring of Power. The first was the weight of such an enormous responsibility. Elrond had always wondered at Ereinion's trust of him, the night he had bestowed Vilya upon him. It had nearly brought the Lord of Rivendell to tears, that one so great should honor him so well. It had been an easy thing at first; for nearly 2000 years Elrond had born the Ring in secret, never daring to place it upon his finger, or even to let it touch flesh. He wore it in a cloth pouch around his neck, to ensure its safety.

But the defeat of Sauron by the Last Alliance had changed many things. Galadriel had been the first to dare to place a Ring upon her finger. Elrond had been more cautious, but the feeling of power when first he had worn the sapphire had been nearly overwhelming, and extremely addictive. Círdan had cautioned him against its use; advising that the more it was used, the more dependent the bearer became on its power. And so Elrond had been weary in the early years, but as time passed, and no rumor of Sauron's return was heard, he had become more daring.

It was not long after Arwen's birth when he first came to recognize the fading in the valley. There came a year when the leaves turned russet in the fall, and did not green again come spring. And he knew that is was permanent. At first he had only pondered the idea. Healing was a gift that had always come naturally to him, but he had never attempted to direct Vilya's power to enhance it. He was not certain such a thing was possible, but as the seasons passed once more, and spring did not return again, he found the courage to make the attempt. And somehow, it had worked. He had restored for a time the lush green forest of old, and as the year passed and fall approached, he watched with amazement as the leaves were slower to turn, and winter did not come at all.

It was some years before he realized the full consequences of his actions. A journey to Lórien in Arwen's fiftieth year had proved nearly disastrous. The family had stayed in the Golden Wood all winter, and when they returned over the mountains in the spring it was to find snow still lingering in the valley, ice at the ford, and trees cast down by the winter storms. And Elrond had known then, that in one single act he had bound himself forever to the dell. The Ring and its Bearer could not leave, or the timelessness and the calm that both bestowed would vanish. It had been a hard blow to accept, that home had suddenly become a prison. But the next winter, when the snow did not return, he had accepted the decision. His life had been one marked by sacrifice, and this was simply one more duty that was expected of him.

But it was a sacrifice that did not truly pain him until the summer when Celebrían was captured in the Red Horn Pass, and Elrond was unable to ride to her rescue. He had sat on his balcony, watching the courtyard for three days without rest, until his sons had returned with their mother's battered body. And every second of the wait he had cursed his life, and the fates that had chosen it for him. And he had hated himself, for placing the lure of a Ring of Power before aught else.


	2. Elladan

**Disclaimer: So Not Mine. I do this only for enjoyment, not for money, which will tell you something, because I have none.**

**Author's Note: So the HP characters had their say, now the LOTR ones wanted a go to. Or at least the Peredhil did. Wait, do I ever write anything else?

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I was ten, I believe, the first time Adar noticed. I say Adar, for I was yet too young to fully understand all that it meant. Elrohir had fallen out of a tree as we raced, and broken his leg as he landed and I had despaired to see him in such pain. The reaction seemed perfectly normal, as if I _knew_ instinctively what to do, but I had not expected that something so simple, to pour my strength into him through our bond, could accomplish something so extraordinary. Adar was so proud that day; more so, I think, than I have ever seen him, at least towards me.

Elrohir was slower, of course, but his gift came in time, though it was less, and for years he despaired because of it. But it was greater than most, though no match for mine, as mine was not for Adar's.

But then the peace of our childhood was shattered, and evil began to creep once more into the forests of the world, and our passion turned to war and weaponry. For a time, it did not matter, and at first there was no change that I noted. But slowly, as the centuries passed, and my skill with a blade grew stronger, my gift for healing grew weaker. War burned it from me, slowly but surely. It was first to go in Elrohir, as it had been last to arrive. And still for some years after I could summon the power to heal a wound that would have been fatal otherwise. But that too, finally left.

The knowledge remained, of course, for the memory of the elves is long and clear, but it was not always enough. I watched men and elves die under my hand that once, I could have saved. And Adar grew more worried when we rode out to war, and a piece of him seemed to die every time we returned from the wilds, injured and unable to help ourselves. The sword can only do so much, but I have learned the touch of healing can do far more.

But it was not such a hard blow, not until the summer Naneth was captured in the Red Horn and we rode her aid. And so nearly did she come to dying before we returned to the Valley, that for some hours I thought for certain that we would not be in time. And in some ways, at least, we were not. For although Adar healed her body, and that was a near thing; he could not also heal her mind and she sailed the next spring.

At first my anger and need for revenge on the orcs that had taken her consumed the thought of all else. But such passion as that can only burn for so long before there is no wood left to feed the fire. And with the loss of my anger, came the pain of guilt. I know Adar blamed himself, but it was not his fault: it was _ours_. It was not our swords and skill at fighting that we needed, but the gift of healing that had been given to us, and that we had discarded.

Elrohir begged his forgiveness, but Adar never blamed us. He could not see past his own imagined failing to that of another, and especially not to that of his sons. But we blamed ourselves enough for all.


	3. Elrohir

**Disclaimer: So Not Mine. I do this only for enjoyment, not for money, which will tell you something, because I have none.**

**Author's Note: So the HP characters had their say, now the LOTR ones wanted a go to. Or at least the Peredhil did. Wait, do I ever write anything else?

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According to Ada we were only four when it became apparent, rather abruptly, that there was a bond between Elladan and I that ran deeper than normal. To be able to hear another's thoughts, and feel another's feelings is not uncommon amongst the Eldar. It is a bond shared between lovers, and often between parents and their children. And sometimes, as in the case of twins, between siblings. But Ada had never known such a strong bond to develop so young, for even he and Elros had been some years older before they had become aware of such a connection.

Elladan and I had been in the kitchens before a rather large and important banquet; underfoot and in the way, as elflings are wont to be. I suppose Elladan thought the contents of the frying pan looking inviting enough to risk burning himself.

He never actually got to taste it of course, because he burned his hand long before he actually made contact with any food. The event is somewhat hazy in my mind, but the cry of pain that echoed from his lips I clearly remember, and the scalding pain in my own hand is as clear as the day it happened.

At first, Adar was somewhat bewildered by what had happened. We were both carried up from the kitchens by the cooks, bawling and screaming for our parents. I remember Ada met us half way, and it took him a good minute before he figured out which one of us was injured. But I sat in Naneth's arms and cried without stop as Adar treated the burn. It wasn't until 'Dan was curled in Ada's arms that we both stopped our tears.

I suppose Adar and Naneth talked a good deal about what had happened, but, of course, my brother and I were not privy to such conversations. But Ada did try to explain to us what had happened, though I only understood some of it.

It wasn't an issue again until we were ten, and I shamefully fell out of a tree and broke my leg. Despite the pain that Elladan must have experienced during that time, he still found it within himself to ease mine with his own gift of healing. Perhaps that is truly what sparked it in the first place; he found the strength to ease my pain because it would ease his own. I have never asked him of this. There are some things that even brothers do not dwell on.

As we grew older, the bond grew deeper still. And we learned, through some trial and error, how to project our thoughts to each other, until it came with ease. We do it now without thought or difficulty, and it has saved our lives on more than one occasion. Even when our gift of healing left us, our bond grew only stronger.

And yet, despite that, we have only on rare occasions been able to speak without voice with our parents. Only in times of great danger and usually only over some distance have we ever spoken mind-to-mind. It is a strange thing, and I have never much considered it. I wonder if things will change, if we sail to Elvenhome?


End file.
